


Rapture of the Deep

by Rhodrangea



Category: Outlast: Whistleblower - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe I suppose??, Anal Sex, Eddie and Waylon figuring themselves out together, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhodrangea/pseuds/Rhodrangea
Summary: {DISCONTINUED}{for now,,,}It's winter and Waylon is alone.It's winter and Waylon thinks he's going crazy. Blue eyes keeping watching him sleep.It's winter and Waylon doesn't know if he can keep holding on anymore.It's winter.





	1. This is what it Sounds like when you Fall in Love

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where I'm going with this. But I know this is gonna turn into something juicy. (How many ppl are still into Outlast fics?? :O)
> 
> I might add a few more things to the tags and ish, bc again, Idk where I'm going with this. It's four a.m, this intro probably doesn't make much sense, but I just want this out before it slips away from me.

" _Darling._ "

"Yes..." 

It was too hot. Like pulsing coals tumbling over his skin, Waylon squeezed a fistful of the sheets beneath him. The heat that radiated from his body covered him like fog and left his skin dappled with sweat. The windows were surely clouded by then, but... That wasn't important. Aching hard and desperate, grasping at the edge of his release. _That_ was important. But every time he imagined that face, half blistered and plastered with a charming, sickeningly sweet smile, it faltered. Sometimes he saw grey eyes, sometimes he saw blue. Sometimes he was calling him a _fucking slut_ and other times he was calling him--

" _Darling?_ "

God, Waylon choked. His voice was vivid. It rung in his ears and made his hair stand on end, made gooseflesh rise on his skin. He was hot. His hand moved quicker along his erection, near dripping but not _there_ yet. He rose his ass into the air, ignored the soft burning beginning to creep onto his knees as he propped himself up on his sheets.

" _Darling, I wish you would stay--_ " 

Liquid nitrogen, that voice, rolling up his spine, climbing his neck, and making his jaws clench. So fucking cold that it burned like hot iron. Painful tightness swelled in Waylon's lower stomach. He could feel those hands walking up his hips like spiders, touching him in places they had no business being. His thighs quivered with the thought of imaginary hands dancing across his skin, traveling behind him, opening him up to make way to welcome his warmth. He wanted that. 

" _What a whore for a wife. You would bloom so willingly for me?_ "

 _Of course he would._

Waylon groaned aloud as he rocked his hips in his hand, building up and up... Even if he called him a whore, Even if he called him a filthy slut, turned around and told him he was his everything. Even if he choked him out on a bloody fucking table and gingerly kissed the top of his thighs just minutes after, Waylon would bloom for him. He would open his legs, scream as loud as he wanted him to. Or be as quiet as he wanted him to. _Anything._ Waylon would do fucking anything--

It came crashing down on top of him, smothered him like an arctic wave just boiling with ice cold heat. He gasped and let out a strangled moan as his body involuntarily jerked and writhed until he came. It was hot, pooling in the palm of his hand as he jerked the last of his release onto the sheets below him. Sharp squelches drifted from his hand as he smeared his cum all over his cock, pumping the last of what he could until he calmed down. He flopped down onto the mattress with a heavy sigh and panted, his breath warming a moist pool against the pillow.

" _Disgusting._ " 

Yes, he was. He was dirty. The rot from Mount Massive was still eating at his brain. It fucked with him every day, every night. 

"Fuck you, Eddie..." Waylon whimpered against the pillow smushed up against his face. It didn't matter that he was gone. It didn't matter that Waylon would never see him again. Eddie touched him. Eddie carved his essence into the very marrow of Waylon's bones without having to commit so much as a second to him. And now those carvings burned. Made him subject himself to _this._ And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but hold onto whatever memories he had left of Eddie, and hoped that Mount Massive's rot didn't get to them. 

Rot moved slower in the cold. 

Waylon turned his gaze to his window. The glass outside was covered with a thin layer of patterned frost, and blocked with a couple inches of snow. 

Maybe he had time to heal. Maybe he had time to rid this ghost of a man from his psyche. He knew Eddie would hurt him. Make him feel worthless, yet worth everything at the same time. Something inside of him didn't want to believe that the Groom would have been all bad. He could have saved him. He could have taken him out of that God awful place, started something new among the snow. Maybe he would have suffered for it. It couldn't have been worse than what he was enduring now.


	2. Rec.

A camcorder. 

Waylon stood, nearly pressed to the chilled glass of the window allowing in his gaze to a camcorder on display. Clean, new, fresh without any dinges or blood stains. It looked bigger, too. He stood there, staring, even as people walked by behind him. Snowflakes caught in his lashes and gathered in dusty clumps throughout the strands of his hair. His ears and nose were starting to turn red from the cold bite. He wanted it. 

Behind that screen, showing him neon green outlines swamped in darkness. Familiar, flashing eyes flickering in the black. A sweet voice peppered in deception, yet to _him,_ it was genuine. 

Waylon gently tapped his fingers against the glass and shifted his weight from foot to foot. The snow and the ice crunched underneath his boots.

What would he do with it? What would he record? Some perverted mess of his mind suggested filming himself while he was, ah... _relieving_ himself. The more _enlightened_ side of his mind suggested keeping track of everything while he was staying in town. Like a video diary. Maybe until he decided to go back. _If_ he was going to go back. 

" _Way!_ " 

" _Jesus!_ " Waylon nearly stumbled when he felt Miles clap him on the shoulder. He sent him a half-hearted glare, while Miles grinned at him. "Christ, Miles."

"Which one is it? Jesus, Christ, or Miles?" 

"Miles." Waylon managed to laugh and give his friend a playful shove. Sifting through all the shit in his mind, Miles was like a beacon, slicing through all the murky depths with his light. Even if he only stopped by for a little while, taking breaks from his freelance journalism escapades just to say hi. He turned his eyes to the camcorder Waylon had been so longingly gazing at. The friendly smile that he arrived with slowly dropped into a plain expression that melted into a small frown. An uncomfortable stretch of silence wedged between them. Waylon focused on his feet while Miles stuffed his hands into his pockets. He prepared for him to start chastising, _"Waylon, you need to get a grip on yourself, this is getting ridiculous, it's almost been five months. Waylon, you're free, you need to give yourself time to heal. Waylon, I'm worried about you, I want you to get a therapist. It would be good for you. Waylon, this. Waylon, that. Waylon, listen to me. Waylon, please."_ But... None of that happened. 

"So are you gonna buy it?" Waylon brightened as he looked back up at Miles, whose expression was swept and unreadible. He was doing it on purpose.

"I'm thinking..."

"What are you gonna film with it?" He looked at the camcorder and pressed his lips together into a thin, hard line. 

"I guess I won't know until I get it." Waylon brushed past him and pushed open the door. He welcomed the warmth seeping into the colder parts of his body, mostly his face. He heard Miles trailing behind him as he made a beeline for that camcorder. As he neared the little electronic device, something clicked, made his pulse quicken against the side of his neck. His throat felt like it was swelling, closing up, going dry. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. 

It was so dark. The only reason why he survived was because of that camcorder. Through the eye of his memory, he could see those pupils glowing so inhumanly through the viewfinder that Waylon really _did_ wonder if those men were actually human. It wasn't their fault. None of it was their fault. 

"Hey, Miles? Could you... Look for some batteries?"

"On it." Miles lingered for a small moment, his brows pinched and his swept expression turning back into a frown. He disappeared when Waylon approached the few boxes stacked up on each other behind the display. Although he hands shook when he reached out to grab one, he handled it gently. Didn't squeeze it too tightly, didn't move too quickly. He stared down at the picture of the camcorder plastered across the front of the box. This was what he needed. Just a little something. A little leverage. Waylon crept to the front of the store, clutching the box to his chest like a child does with his favorite toy. His tapered breath only worsened when he caught sight of the cashier. 

_'Oh, fuck me...'_

The boy was certainly younger than Waylon. He looked about twenty, but nonetheless, mature. Set jaw, dark eyes, broad shoulders, pretty lips and soft, yet noticeable cheekbones. Black hair shaved at the sides, the longer part wild and unkempt. At a glance, he would've easily mistaken him for Eddie. And his heart lurched, partly wishing that it had actually been him. Even thought Waylon knew damn well that it wasn't, he couldn't move. 

" _Darling,_ " Brushing against his neck, that liquid nitrogen replacing every droplet of blood in him and making him want to _kneel._

"Way?" His grip tightened the box. The boy at the counter hadn't noticed until Miles had something, and he looked up from the magazine he was reading with raised eyebrows. Waylon caught his gaze and gulped. His eyes weren't blue. They were black. "You okay?" Through his coat, he could feel Miles' comforting hand rubbing against his shoulder. When Waylon didn't answer, he sighed, "Are you sure you still want that thing--"

" _Yes._ " His eyes fluttered as he glanced down at the box again. "Yes..." Even if it meant having to stand face to face with Eddie's doppelgänger. Miles was with him, though. Enough assurance that if something miraculously _did_ go wrong, he wouldn't be alone in it. 

The boy's face read nothing but confusion towards the two men, and he straightened when Waylon came to place his box on the counter. Miles was close behind him as he slid the pack of batteries on top. 

"Hope your shopping experience was okay?" Waylon could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck. God, he even sounded like him. A few pitches lower and it would be just perfect. 

"Y-yes, thank you..." Thankfully the boy had caught the awkward drift and rung up his things quickly and without missing a single beat. Within a minute, Waylon had paid his fee, denied a plastic bag, thanked him for his polite wishes of a good day, and went storming out into the white snow. The further he walked away, the harder he worked to forget that boy in the store. He wasn't Eddie. Far from it. He was already working on opening the box. 

"Wait up! _Way!_ " Waylon turned over his shoulder to watch Miles jog up to him. "Jeez, gonna open that already?"

"Yup."

"Doncha wanna wait until you get home?"

"Nope." Once he'd gotten the camcorder out of the box, he discarded the cardboard in an alleyway dumpster. Hastily, he opened the pack of batteries and shoved two of them into the camcorder. He abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, causing Miles to bump into him. They stumbled together, but Waylon hardly noticed it. It felt good to have that thing back into his hands. It was just a little bit heavier than the last. Clean surface, clean memory. Nothing on it. A brand new slate. 

"This is it, huh." Miles snorted. Waylon shot him a look. "What? I mean, you really want to dig up old shit you've been trying to bury with that thing?" Ah, there is was. Chastising, like Waylon was some little kid. "What do you think is going to happen, Waylon? See, this is why I told you that you should go to therapy, this can't be healthy..." He tuned Miles out as he turned the camcorder over in his hands. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he pushed open the viewfinder, turned it on and hit record. Although he wasn't listening to what Miles was saying, he did hear him stop talking once he rose the camcorder to his face. 

"Smile, Miles." Waylon laughed as he pointed it at his friend. He purposefully grimaced, which only made Waylon laugh more. It sounded so weird to hear himself laugh. Since Mount Massive... he couldn't remember the last time he genuinely laughed. Looking through the viewfinder was so different then before. This time, he was outside, in the cold, It wasn't dark. He filmed the snow drifting down from the sky. He filmed his feet sinking down into the snow with every step. He even filmed Miles only a few steps ahead of him, the wind whipping his hair all around his head and flattening the fake fur lining the hood of his coat. The further down the street they went, the closer they got to Waylon's home, except... He stopped. Right across the street from the local diner was a vacant building open for sale ever since Waylon moved into town. Except, the for sale sign was gone. Waylon slowly padded through the snow and stood right in front of the building. His eyeballs felt like glass right about then; he was cold and needed a long, hot shower. But he digressed. 

Slowly, he zoomed in on the few naked mannequins already perched up at the front of the windows. He counted six, three on either sides of the door parting the two windows. His breath hitched. He remembered seeing mannequins. Naked and dressed and bloodied. Crudely dressed in mock gowns. He tried to shake those thoughts away.

Probably a new clothing store or something. 

Waylon felt nauseous. 

"Wonder what they're gonna put on those mannequins." Miles murmured from behind him. He hummed. 

"Yeah." He zoomed out of the mannequin's face and focused on the entire front of the building. The snow piled at the front door. The camera was starting to feel a little too cold for comfort. 

Waylon stopped the video and closed the camcorder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might be going somewhere :o  
> Longer chapters to come when ish starts getting serious


	3. Snapdragons?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So you've finally made your way back to me. It's been so long."

"Waylon? Waylon, what are you doing up there?" 

"O-oh, I was just fliming." Waylon turned his camera from the flourishing snapdragons to Ginger, who was trudging up the greenhouse stairs with another pot of snapdragons. "I could've done that for you, Ginger." He stepped aside to let her set the pot into the neat row of flowers against the wall. At first glance, it was obvious that she was about ready to pop; her belly was swollen, round against her blue shirt. Of course Waylon had accompanied a pregnant woman in his life a couple times, but seeing such a woman again gave him an uncomfortable pang of nostalgia. Ginger's blonde curls tumbled over his face and stopped above her shoulders, her smile was so bright and her hands were always so soft. Cheeks peppered with freckles that brought out the green in her eyes. A sweet young woman who... reminded him of someone. In fact, she looked almost exactly like that _someone._

"Don't fret, sweetheart," Ginger waved her hand dismissivly and gestured to the camera. "A project?"

"Yeah. I'm filming a, uh... plant... documentary." Waylon joked and lifted the lens to the glowing woman herself. "A word from our very own lady botonist?" Ginger laughed, a soft ringing sound that could soothe any nervous wreck in a heartbeat. She would be a wonderful mother. 

"Well, it's the middle of winter, so the greenhouse has been a lot hotter than usual, and..." Ginger shook her head and looked to Waylon as if he would feed her words, like a teleprompter. "See these snapdragons?" Waylon couldn't hold back a little laugh. "They've just bloomed! And they're going to be staying here until spring comes. Sorry, I can't provide more intelligent commentary." Ginger laughed as Waylon stopped the video. 

"Ah, it's fine. You should head home. I'll take over here." He knew Ginger was tired, and he'd always had a soft spot for pregnant women. 

"Oh, Waylon..." 

"Really! You're due soon and you shouldn't be running around in here all day. I know what to do, now." When he first started to work at Ginger's greenhouse, he had thought he was a waste of a software engineer. He had graduated, been paid through a corrupted system, went through hours of physical and psychological horror, and is _still_ haunted by hallucinations and nightmares all so he could get his ass landed in a greenhouse. If would have known this, then he would have never went the Murkoff route. But... Ginger was gentle and... She made him feel better about all the shit that he felt, even if she only vaguely knew about his past. She, alongside Miles, distracted him from the rot that started a slow crawl to turning his brain to mush.

Ginger pinched her brows, her eyes pooling with admiration and certain kind of warmth that was familiar, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He hadn't anticipated her walking up to him and giving him a soft kiss on his cheek. "You're a sweetheart." She giggled, searching his face for a small moment. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but Waylon was too hung up to question her because fuck she _kissed_ him and he never felt so flattered. That kiss could mend bones. "I'll let you know when she's due." The young woman sighed. "You take care."

"Yeah, you too... Let me help you down the stairs," 

Snow was piled above the greenhouse ceiling. The inside was muggy, made Waylon take gasps of breath, the damp air coating the inside of his lungs with a moist film. It had to be an uncomfortable, sweaty heat wave in the greenhouse for the plants to grow in the middle of winter. He had this irrational thought that he was breathing in spores and he'd wake up the next day retching up flower petals. He tried not to think about that, helping Ginger down the stairs with his camcorder dangling from his wrist. At the door, he helped her coat over her shoulders, her mittens onto her small hands, and her scarf around her neck, all the while she rambled about what Waylon was supposed to do while she was gone. He assured her that everything would be fine; 

"The greenhouse is big, but I don't mind sacrificing my time to take care of it. Better than wasting it wallowing in self pity." He attempted to joke, but Ginger gave him a look, and he felt a weight on his chest at the sheer truth of that statement. He rubbed behind his neck and coughed to break the awkward silence. "Get plenty of rest. Tell your husband that I said to take good care of you."

"Oh trust me, he already does. I can't even leave the bedroom without him flipping his stuff." They shared a small laugh together. That used to be Waylon. A long time ago. "Goodbye, Waylon. I'll see you... in a few months?" 

"Few months." Although he new well enough that it would be longer than that. But he encouraged Ginger to take her time. With that, she hobbled out into the cold and to her car. Waylon waved from the foggy windows when she drifted from the curb and clutched the camcorder in his warm hands. Guess he was on his own again. 

 

**...**

 

 _Open!_

The little red sign hanging in front of the boutique made Waylon want to shrink into his own boots. He had stopped looking over the videos from the greenhouse to film the sign and the few white dresses that had finally been put up on display. Two on the left, just one of the right, the other three still barren. The boutique didn't have a name. Not yet, anyways. Waylon gulped loud enough that the camcorder probably picked it up. HIs hands had started to shake. Not from the cold. He nearly slammed it shut. There he was again, looking dumb as he peered through some shop's window. Waylon wanted to go inside out of curiosity. But he was working up a cold sweat. What if it _was_ him? What if, somehow, from Mount Massive all the way to that little peaceful mountain town, Eddie had hitched a ride on Waylon's shirt like a tick on the back of a deer? Snuck into his bloodstream like a virus, tangled in his hair like dandelion seeds, just hoping to find someplace else to grow and spread?

 _No._

That was impossible. 

Waylon swallowed again, until his Adam's apple bobbed against the front of his throat. _Now or never._ He pocketed the camcorder and took slow steps to the boutique door. He tried to ignore his quivering hands as they reached out to pull open the door. The biting wind toussled his hair as he stepped into the warm boutique. The gentle sound of a bell rung above him. His eyes darted around, observing the fairly new interior. Racks of elegant dresses stood off to the sides, while another mannequin stood in the middle like a centerpiece, showing off a long, flowing wedding gown, all pinned up and the body sparkling underneath a modest chandelier. Complete with lace gloves and a layered amount of spilled ripples along the skirt. It was... beautiful. Waylon wanted to touch it, but he feared of hidden eyes, watching him and waiting for him to do something wrong in order to be scolded afterwards. 

Nevertheless, he wanted to try it on. He imagined it to be soft, maybe accenting whatever curves he _thought_ he had. He rubbed his hands together, God, it was too quiet. Maybe no one was in? Just as he dared to assume the place was empty, he heard the familiar click of a door opening and closing. Waylon quickly shuffled behind the mannequin and gripped the ruffles tight in his hands, his heart banging against his chest and threatening to burst out and paint that lovely dress red. Maybe that would be how he died. His heart bursting out of his chest and left for the boutique owner to be more pissed that he had ruined their dress rather than the fact there was a dead man lying on their floor. He could hear a soft sigh followed by hushed footsteps against the floor. Every nerve in Waylon's body was _kicking it,_ screaming at him to whip out the camcorder for the event that something happened and he needed to get it on camera before making a mad dash for the door. 

He hadn't noticed that his shallow breathing escalated into audible, shaking pants, his eyes going so wide that they watered as the footsteps came closer. Waylon was really huddling against the dress, wishing it would swallow him up and transport him to some other dimension. He wheezed his eyes shut. The steps came around the mannequin.

_It's him, it's him, it's him, it's--_

"Are you alright...?" 

Oh, _God._

Waylon swallowed thickly and made a noise between a croak and a whimper as he dared to open his eyes again, cheeks red with embarressment as he turned to face the person who had the burden of witnessing some strange man having a nervous breakdown in their own shop. When their eyes met, the man sharply inhaled a breath, blue eyes widening until Waylon could see the soft red lifting from the whites of his eyes. 

" _You?_ "

 _Me?_ , Waylon wanted to squeak to relieve the pressure that was crushing his fucking lungs. But it was too late for that. Eddie saw his face, and apparently, knew exactly who he was. 

Turned out he really was that dandelion seed catching a free ride in Waylon's hair.

Something in Eddie's face changed. Slipped from a falsely innocent inquiry to a familiar tug of the brow that Waylon had only seen in the dark. 

"Ah, Darling,"

_Fuck._

"So you've finally made your way back to me. It's been so long." 

All that time jerking off in his bedroom and when he finally sees the fucking man, he chokes. Waylon was frozen, a block of ice, staring up at Eddie, still clutching onto the dress. HIs face looked good. It was healing. It was still kind of pink, but the festering blisters had gone. His eyes weren't horrendously bloodshot, and the leftover pink among the white didn't look nearly as bad as they did at Mount Massive. 

When Waylon didn't respond, Eddie's endearing smile melted into a frown. 

"Not even a word? Are you upset with me?" His voice teetered on a threat and Waylon rapidly shook his head. 

"N-n-no." 

"Oh, Darling, don't be so shy." He flinched when Eddie reached forward and gently pulled the fabric away from his hands, lacing their fingers together and tugging him along to the back of the boutique. The grip on his hand was far too tight for comfort. "We've much to discuss since our departure." 

This was what he wanted. Of course this was what he wanted. He didn't... He didn't _do_ the things he did because he didn't believe that Eddie was out there, still alive and kicking. But even then, as he gripped Eddie's hand, the other practically strangling his camcorder, his heart didn't stop beating. His hands couldn't shake when they were contained. What was going on? Waylon looked up at the back of Eddie's head, still shaved the same with neatly combed back hair. A little snapdragon was perched over his left ear. Waylon shivered.

_Why was he afraid?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. TF is gonna happen next.


	4. They're Asking Me, Where'd You Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You scared me..."
> 
> "There is no reason to be afraid. You are safe with me."

Waylon remembered the sweltering stench of blood, smeared on the floor and the walls. All those ghastly screams underneath the sharp whir of a buzzsaw. He remembered the nausea when he was cramped in that locker, the stiffy haze that attacked all of his senses as he watched those men get mutilated one by one... And Eddie, justified by the idea of a perfect woman, a perfect wife, to bare his children, did it without so much as a second thought. To be so viciously plagued that he didn't even believe that what he'd been doing was... gruesome in the very least. What made him decide that Waylon was the one perfect enough to be his _bride?_ Sure, he tried to cut off his dick and everything, but continued to pursue him after initial rejection. Did he do that with everyone? The ones who... weren't subjected to that buzzsaw?

All the while Waylon gripped Eddie's warm hand, the white, nicely lit boutique seemed to grow dark, only lit with sparse flickering lights. That vision flickered away with another glance at the snapdragon over Eddie's ear. As he led him through a door, presumably where he had emerged from before, Waylon half expected to walk into another workshop, splattered with blood and more makeshift tools scattered about. But instead, it was clean, with a couple empty mannequins standing beside a desk with a light blue sewing machine sitting on top. Along the other side of the desk were see-through boxes and a rack holding rolls of fabric. Mostly whites and creams, but a few pastels here and there. Further by the floor-to-ceiling window weres a few body mirrors, and a little stool right in front of it.

"Eddie?" Waylon tried with a meek breath, fearing that if his voice elevated too high, the Groom would become upset. He never liked it when Waylon rose his voice, talked back, or even questioned him, for that matter. 

"Mhm?" His hum was soft and delicate. Showed no sign of hostility. Yet. 

"Why... Why are you bringing me back here?" Eddie didn't respond as he sat Waylon down at the desk. The Groom's face, while graced with a gentle smile, felt off, as if something was bothering him. Waylon was going to ask what was wrong, until he spoke first;

"I feared there wouldn't be a time when we'd meet again," He crouched down in front of Waylon, blue eyes glittering against the light. He took Waylon's hands into his and squeezed tightly. "And yet, here you are. As radiant as ever." All winter, Waylon's face had experienced the most amount of chill in his entire life. Except now, it flushed red, heat rushing to his cheeks and ears. It was unexpected, yet, exactly what he wanted to hear. A little voice in the back of his head chastised him, saying it was all just a facade. He was the same as he was back at Mount Massive. That little voice... vaguely sounded like Miles. As terrified as Waylon felt (his heart was still pounding), he felt himself beginning to relax. This was what he wanted. Right?

"Miracles happen." Waylon murmured in a poor attempt at flirting. It didn't seem that Eddie cared at all, because he beamed with that familiar toothy smile, a smile that, in the past, sent Waylon running with his tail between his legs. He really was... handsome. 

"Darling, _you_ are a miracle. And so, I have to decided to... reevaluate myself." Eddie rubbed gentle circles against Waylon's knuckles with his thumbs. "I want to be... a better man, for your sake, and for the sake of our future together." That sounded familiar. Back when Eddie said something similiar, although at Waylon's expense. Maybe Eddie _did_ change over these four months. People changed. Even the demented ones. However, Waylon didn't feel himself becoming too excited. He hesitated. Deep inside, he was uneasy. Even though he tried to push it down, it continued to bubble up in his chest. 

" _Even_ after you _left_ me," Eddie squeezed his hands a little tighter, causing Waylon to wince. His smile dissapated as he rolled his eyes, more so to himself than Waylon. "A gentleman has the capacity to forgive." 

"Th-thank you..." His grip loosened as he brought Waylon's hand up to kiss his knuckles. He plucked the snapdragon from behind his ear and situated it in Waylon's hair. He shivered, his face still an impossible shade of red. He didn't know how long he had until Eddie decided he didn't want to be so gentlemanly anymore.

"No need to thank me, Darling. Just don't do it again." Eddie stood up with a smile. "You know how a man gets when a woman plays hard to get." So he still thought Waylon was a woman. Or that he was going to _become_ a woman. That wouldn't happen. Hopefully. "Come now, my dear. Take off your clothes. Your physique is perfect for fitting the kind of garments I think you'd look absolutely beautiful in." Now, Waylon wasn't exactly the most muscular man in the world, but he wouldn't call himself dainty nor rugged. He was... average. However, hearing that Eddie already wanted him to get _naked_ set him on edge. He couldn't do that. Oh no. Oh no, _no._ That was far from good.

"I don't think--"

"Don't test my patience, Darling, I'm a busy man." Eddie joked, although Waylon had a feeling there was a threat somewhere underneath that _'joke.'_ So Waylon stood up with his back to Eddie. Wih shaking hands, he unzipped his coat, slipping it off his shoulders and gingerly draping it over the back of the chair. He patted down his pockets, just to make sure the camcorder was still there. Unbuttoning his shirt, he could feel the Groom's eyes on him, soaking up whatever detail they could see. Waylon gulped.

"Eddie? Where... Where did you go when, you know..." Waylon folded the button up and sat it on the seat before bending over to take off his boots. "When I... left. How did you get here?" He glanced over his shoulder, stiffening at the silence and licking his dry lips. 

"The details are unimportant. I guess I sought familiarity in a small town like this. Growing up, I knew my town, and they knew me." The lack of knowledge on how Eddie _actually_ left the asylum didn't sit right with Waylon. Did Miles know who he was? Did he see him there, after he went to investigate? Waylon pursed his lips and wriggled out of his pants, folding them on top of the shirt. God, even though it was warm, he felt cold. Goosebumps rose across his skin, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. 

"Is this fine?" Waylon turned around and clasped his hands in front of his crotch, even though he was still wearing boxers. Sure, he had thought of the Groom many times in the comfort of his own privacy, however it was vastly different when the actual man was staring him in the face.

"How adorable," Eddie cooed. "Being all modest in front of me. You don't have to hide from me. You'll be beautiful when I get you into this." Of he course he hadn't elaborated on what _'this'_ was. Waylon had a clue. However he didn't want to get on his bad side when they had just saw each other. Reluctantly, he eventually shimmied out of his boxers, finding no time in putting them away as the Groom gestured him over to the windows. "Close your eyes. It's a surprise." 

"In front of the windows?" Eddie arched his full eyebrow and glanced out the windows. 

"There are bigger issues to press for than peeping toms. I love you, and that's all that matters." Waylon stared at him for a long moment before taking in a deep shaky breath. Just do as he wants, and it'll be over soon before he knew it... He nearly tiptoed towards him, feet hushed against the carpet. His eyes fluttered shut as he sat down on the very edge of the cold stool, knees together, hands perched against them so at least his forearms could cover his lovely bits. He heard Eddie grunt, probably in disapproval of said lovely bits. However his footsteps echoed away momentarily, giving Waylon time to exhale. 

In what chances would this man end up showing up in Waylon's life again? Did he have doubts? Amongst mild denial and pure wanton-- of course. His rationale wasn't exactly the best, but it was functional enough that he reasoned Eddie had been long gone. Boy, had he been wrong. Embarrassingly wrong. Waylon hadn't predicted it, and Miles sure as hell couldn't have. Well, Waylon had gotten what he wanted and yet, he wasn't throwing himself at the man like he imagined himself to. Not immediatly, at least. He was still afraid, and for good reason. Then what was that... desire for him? Had his words truly gotten to Waylon, and he only started realizing after he left the asylum? A stretch, maybe. But a very plausible stretch, considering Eddie was out and mingling in society. Who was next, _Frank?_

"Darling?" Waylon flinched in surprise, a hand flying up over his chest as he breathed a heavy sigh.

"You scared me..."

"There is no reason to be afraid. You are safe with me." Eddie stated tenderly, a warm hand slipped up the side of his thigh. Waylon clenched his hands into tight fists, that familiar cold rush shooting through him like a bullet. _Not good._ "Forward." He scooted once, his eyes nearly watering due to how tightly he had them closed. "You'll have to move your hands, Darling." His voice lowered, touching on annoyance. 

"P-promise you won't look." He heard Eddie breathe a chuckle through his nose.

"Cross my heart, and hope to die." He probably didn't want to look, anyway. Waylon didn't have velvety petals he so desired. He moved his hands, clutched to his chest. He held his breath when he felt Eddie slipping on a thin fabric up his legs until it settled around his hips. Did a poor job holding his junk, though. Next, came something soft, trailing up his left leg and stopping to lightly squeeze around his thigh, and then another around his right. Waylon flexed his toes. _Oh._ He knew what is was, now. he didn't know whether to be thrilled or uneasy. An uncomfortable mixture of both made his stomach tumble. "Let me just... Mm, you have amazing bone structure." His hands up both of Waylon's thighs and gently squeezed once they reached the top of the stockings. He wanted to clamp his legs shut, because _someone_ was getting a little too excited. He let out a small peep. Thankfully Eddie moved on to slip something else over his head and around his torso until it clipped behind his back. It was a little loose against his chest. Next, he helped him into a robe of some sorts, the fabric silky and shifting around Waylon's body. "There we are. All done." Waylon felt Eddie's hands grasping onto his to help him onto his feet. "You can open your eyes, now~" Dare he open up his eyes? He couldn't keep them closed forever. 

Waylon's eyes narrowed against the dim light leaking into the room before they adjusted to Eddie's grinning face in front of him. The Groom was nearly buzzing with excitement as he stepped behind Waylon, allowing him to see just what he had managed to get him to wear in the mirror. For a split second, he couldn't recognize who he saw in the mirror until his gaze landed in his own face which was stained pink. That was the least of his concerns. He was fully clad in white _lingerie._ Complete with ruffles along the hem of the thigh highs and sheer white panties, barely covered by a silk robe. He felt... nice. 

" _wow..._ "

"Do you like it? You'll grow into that soon enough." Eddie commented when Waylon thumbed the lace bralette covering his chest. He hardly noticed being hugged from behind, he just looked so... fragile in the mirror. He didn't expect to like it, but it fit.

"Yeah, I do," He chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at the Groom. "I like it a lot."

"You look beautiful, Darling. Even with all of your filthy vulgarities." The words didn't sting, probably because he said them in a wistful sigh. Even though Waylon wanted to stare at his lace covered body for a little while longer, he couldn't help but want to go hide behind Eddie or even some miraculous blanket of darkness. Anything to save him from prying eyes. They were both exposed to the windows. Sure, it was beginning to get dark outside, but _still._

"Don't you think it's about time to close shop?" Eddie's eyes fluttered. 

"Ah, right. It is time, isn't it? Thank you. I'd forget my own head if it weren't screwed on!" Waylon found himself deflating once his warmth left from behind.

"Do you mind if I keep this?" Waylon watched Eddie drift to the door, his eyes lidded in admiration when he turned to look at him. 

"If you want to. I made it for you, after all. Take good care of it, now. We'll need it again on our honeymoon~" Waylon mustered a scoff before the Groom disappeared behind the door. Waylon Gluskin, huh. _Cute._ He scurried over to slip off the robe and tug on his clothes over the lingerie. He didn't feel like taking it off, especially when it felt so good against his skin. With his warm coat finally back over his shoulders, he folded the robe in his hands and saw himself out to the front of the boutique. There, Eddie was by the door with his coat already zipped up to his neck and a hat over his head. "Ready to go home, my dear?"

"Home? Your home?" 

"Mhm." It felt like a decision he would make in a video game that would ultimately determine his fate.

>Go with him.  
>Don't go with him.

>Don't piss him off.  
>Piss him off. 

Waylon glanced outside at the sparkling snow. One half of him had the burning fucking desire to say yes, and the other had the burning desire to say no. It was like he was being torn apart in two different directions. Jesus, he had a headache.

"I can't." He turned his gaze upwards to look Eddie in the eye. "I have... important things to do at my own house." Eddie tilted his head. 

"Should I go with you, instead?" 

"Oh, no, no. I just need time to, uh... think. You're a wonderful man, Eddie. I just want to make sure I'm the right one for you. You know?" Halfway into Waylon's explaination, Eddie's face had began to shift into a grimace, but it quickly lifted into a grin.

"Of course, my dear. As much as I hate to let you go, I guess that I have no choice." He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to Waylon's forehead. His toes curled against his boots. "Darling. I want you to be happy." 

"Th-thanks..." Eddie only laughed and opened the door, allowing the cold air to rush in and clash with the heat. 

"Be safe. Don't let the frost bite you. I'll be seeing you again soon enough." Waylon was surprised that Eddie was letting him go so easily, although he didn't question it. He did mention being a "better man" earlier. Then again, it could be deception. The Groom was good at what he did. 

"See you soon!" Waylon ducked out onto the snow, turning over his shoulder only to wave as he watched Eddie lock up, wave back, and head in the other direction. Good... Waylon rushed home, his heart a roaring thunder the entire way. What in the hell had he gotten himself into. He was stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Now he was caught all up in that man's web again after he nearly died trying to get out of it. Except, it seemed Eddie was making recovery. He was being so patient... Maybe he couldn't mutilate who he wanted anymore, but Waylon saw it, that little flicker in his eyes that spelled danger if only for a split second. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he did know this; Eddie had Waylon's body, and was terrifyingly close to having his mind. Waylon had wiggle room. He could do this. It didn't have to be that way. With time, he and Eddie, they could mend together. He wasn't going to let him go astray. He wasn't going to let them become another Mount Massive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get comfortable just yet c:
> 
> The inspiration for the title of the chapter came from Kygo and Selena Gomez's "It Ain't Me" bc I was listening to it while writing this chapter, and the lil bit where Selena's voice distorts kind of sounded like that. Plus, those particular words kind of relate to the chapter!! That and I've been listening to Eddie's dialogue to try and get into his headspace. It was not easy, but I think I'll get better the more I write his character :O
> 
> Also I tried to make this chapter lONGER. 
> 
> APOLOGIZE FOR TYPOS IT'S LATE ASF I'LL FIX THEM LATER


	5. N O T I C E

Alright y'all what tf is up, it's ya gal, Rhodrangea.

It's lowkey been like 827539857 months since I've updated this fic, and I really, _really_ want to continue it, but I'm not too happy with the direction it's already gone in. I might just delete a few chapters and re write them to go in a different direction. I love me some Eddie and Waylon, but I kind of want to get just a tad bit more organized with this. I want a plan, you know? I kind of envisioned this to be like some awesome, free writing adventure I'd go on with my first fic but then it crashed and burned tbh.

Life gets in the way :P

But yeah. Let me know what y'all think, and hopefully I'll whip up something juicy for you guys this week. ;)

\- Rhodrangea


	6. N O T I C E #2

So!

I've decided to try another Outlast fic, especially since it's NaNo and I really want to have an official piece for this fandom. Outlast has a special place in my heart, and I want to fully contribute to it! So, if you would like to keep up with me, head over to my other Outlast fic, _Outside_!

I'm really excited for this one, and I have a pretty clear direction of where I want it to go. Thank y'all for sticking around!!

\- Rhodrangea


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